


No Longer Deathless

by pine_storm_season



Series: loosely canon writings [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Trauma, thats it thats the only tag this gets skdjdkfjdhd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pine_storm_season/pseuds/pine_storm_season
Summary: phil hasn't died, yet. and then he does. and it's surprisingly jarring.(that's the best you're gonna get, i don't have the energy to summarize it more and i can't figure out how to save.)
Series: loosely canon writings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191365
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	No Longer Deathless

**Author's Note:**

> this exists purely because i was watching tommy's stream from yesterday and phil made a comment about not dying or something and i got an idea aksksjdjdhdjd anyway this is my first fic here so i might not have figured everything out properly. also, this is kinda an au i guess? because i wrote the entire goddamn thing before i remembered that Wilbur's Not Sane Anymore kdhxbxjdjdjzdjd oops. also, if you have questions about the worldbuilding or anything, ask, because chances are i'll have an answer.
> 
> warnings: phil has a kind of intense trauma response to dying (dissociation, and he just kinda generally goes blank) and i think that's it? if anything else needs to be added please tell me.

The first time Phil dies, it comes as a shock.

He’s used to death being treated heavier than all else; after surviving so long where death is permanent, he’s not used to people casually killing each other, fingertips barely brushing a bed before a battle commences.

 _Careless_ , some part of Phil thinks, even though he knows that they'll respawn. The others tease him for his reluctance to join in. They call him a paranoid old man, and even though the mischievous grins on their faces make it clear they’re joking, Phil never has a better response than “I’d rather not”. But he treats the fact that he's the only one of them who hasn’t died as a record he’s proud of; and sometimes, he thinks that's all it is.

“Gotta keep my record,” he says, grinning, when Tommy teases him for not going in a ravine even in full iron.

“I'm the only one who hasn’t died, I wanna keep it that way,” he says, when Fundy asks him to test a trap.

“None of us have a bed,” he says, when Wilbur and Techno invite him to join their mock battle.

And so he lives. Cautious, careful, the longest deathless streak of all of them. And he's fine with that. He’d rather live cautiously than die a stupid death.

But facing off against more angry pigmen than he can count, he doesn't know if he can get out of this.

Shaking hands grip the netherite sword, barely enchanted, but enough to make the dark metal gleam purple. He stumbles on his blackstone bridge, high above the lava lake below, and nearly drops it at the spike of fear that rips through him. He gasps, trying desperately to balance on the makeshift bridge.

A pigman scrambles up onto his bridge and charges, golden sword held high. Phil switches to his crossbow, letting off three quick shots that knock it into the lava below, and he lets out a relieved breath. But three more scramble up, and instead of fighting he scrabbles in his inventory for an enderpearl, twisting and throwing it across the lava lake back towards the portal. As the pigmen nearly reach him, Phil leaps off the bridge, then he's falling, falling—

The pearl sends him into the lava. Heat envelopes him, and he claws his way to the surface, the burning pain of the lava twisting against the icy panic in his chest. He scrambles for the netherrack shore and makes it, burns covering his body as he stumbles onto solid ground, but he's burning still, and fuck, he used his last fire res potion in the bastion.

A wail of pain and fear escapes him. He's alone in the nether, and he's burning, burning, helpless without water—

His body dissolves into white smoke and everything he had hits the ground.

His eyes fly open, and he's at spawn. Deep in a spruce forest, surrounded by a messy wall, but safe and alive at spawn.

Phil tries to stand, but his legs give way beneath him and he doesn’t have the strength to try again. So he sits there, shaking, remnants of the terror still flooding through him. 

His things must have despawned by now, he realizes dimly. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here, but it feels like an eternity and no time at all.

The sun has started to dip towards the horizon. Phil shivers, but doesn’t move to warm himself. He doesn't try to stand.

Tubbo blinks into existence a few blocks away from him, shaking water out of his hair. He scrambles up, making for the hole in the wall, and then stops upon seeing Phil.

“Oh, hi, Phil!” he says. He pauses, a frown creeping across his face. “Phil, are you okay?”

Phil can’t make his mouth move to form words, it turns out. He manages a tiny shake of his head, a strand of hair falling in his eyes that he doesn't lift a hand to move.

Tubbo comes over and sits down next to him, something very gentle in his expression.

“Are you okay, Phil?” he asks again. “What happened? You died?”

Phil nods.

“Are you hurt?”

No.

“You respawned okay, right?”

Phil doesn't know. He doesn't know, because he's never respawned before, because he's never fucking died.

And now he has.

And it wasn’t permanent, because Tubbo's here, and he's still in this world, and he's completely okay.

He's completely okay.

He can't make himself move.

“Phil?”

A gust of wind blows through the trees, catching Phil's hat and blowing it away. Tubbo springs up to catch it reflexively, settling himself back down next to Phil and gently putting his hat in his hands. Phil clings to it tightly. It's a tangible sign that he's still here, that he's okay, that he respawned. The fabric is soft beneath his white-knuckled hands.

Tubbo gently touches Phil's shoulder, and he flinches so hard he's surprised he didn't accidentally tear his hat. Or he would be, if he could feel anything past the grey fog filling his head.

“What's wrong, Phil? Can you talk, did that get fucked up in the respawn?”

He shrugs; a tiny lift and drop of one shoulder, the most movement he can manage for the time being. He doesn't know if he can still talk. He can’t make himself form words.

“I'm gonna get Tommy, okay?” Tubbo says, standing. “Or—or Wilbur or Techno, just—someone. I'm gonna be right back, okay, Phil?”

He turns and jogs off, through the hole in the wall. Phil watches him go until he's out of vision, then his gaze drops to the hat in his hands.

He doesn't know how long he waits.

“—at least, I think he respawned correctly,” says Tubbo’s voice, outside of the wall.

“You said he's not moving?” Wilbur's voice asks.

“He's not talking, either,” Tubbo says, leading Wilbur through the hole. “He's just kinda…frozen, Wil.”

Wilbur stiffens when he catches sight of Phil, sitting there still, shadows of the trees casting stripes on his face. He's still clutching his hat.

“Phil!” he cries, hurrying over to sit next to him. Phil doesn't respond.

Wilbur turns to look at the sky and winces at the sun’s low position.

“Tubbo,” he says, “we should get Phil inside, before the monsters come out. Phil, I'm gonna touch you now, okay?”

After a moment, Wilbur gently grabs Phil's arm and pulls him to his feet, Tubbo rushing around to support Phil as he stumbles. Helped along by the two of them, Phil manages to leave spawn and stumble up the hill to the path. Wilbur leads them to the community house, hesitating when they get there. He mumbles something that Phil doesn't think to listen to, then says they're going to Tommy's house.

“Tubbo,” Wilbur says, “can you go tell Tommy that we’re gonna stay the night there? Me and Phil at least, anyway.”

Tubbo nods, and takes off down the path toward Tommy's house.

“Come on, Phil,” Wilbur says softly. “We’re gonna make it there before night, and you’ll be safe.”

Phil can't go any faster than a stumble, but with Wilbur pulling him along, they're not going too slowly, even as the setting sun paints the sky with reds and oranges like the nether, like the fire that he died in.

That he died in.

He died.

A quiet, scared, mournful sound escapes him, and Wilbur fails to hide a wince.

“You're okay, Phil,” Wilbur tells him gently, leading him up the steps in the path, around the creeper holes left unpatched.

Wilbur hisses out a curse as a skeleton rattles to life on the path, past Tommy's house, and Phil flinches, stiffening and coming to a stop.

“Phil, come on, come on,” Wilbur mutters, holding up a shield on his left arm, still pulling Phil along with his right. Phil stumbles along, and Tommy opens the door for them, helping pull Phil inside.

Inside.

Safe.

He's not dead.

“I was dead,” Phil mumbles. “I died. In th' nether, I died.”

Tubbo, perched out of the way on a chest, tilts his head. “You died?” he asks.

“Did you respawn okay?” Tommy asks. “You’re—you seem kinda—”

He shuts up when Wilbur shoots him a look.

“I died,” Phil mumbles again. He hasn’t let go of his hat, his shaking hands still clutching the white and green fabric.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, “do you have any spare beds?”

“I do!” Tubbo says. He reaches into his inventory, pulling out a light grey one and putting it down.

“Hey—this is my house, Wil—”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Wilbur tells him. “We’ll fix it in the morning.”

He takes Phil's hand, leading him over to the bed by the furnaces. Phil doesn't protest, allowing himself to be led across the room.

“Phil's gonna sleep here tonight, okay?” Wilbur says. “Tubbo, if you think you can make it to another place to sleep, you're free to go, but if not, I'm sure Tommy won't mind having you here for the night.”

“Wilbur, I—”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Wilbur snaps. Phil flinches a second later. “You're okay,” he reassures him, putting an arm around Phil and letting him lean into Wilbur.

Tubbo grabs Tommy's hand and leads him into another room, stopping any further argument.

And Phil, surprisingly enough, sleeps the whole night through.


End file.
